


Honey

by Nupitrr



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Abuse, CSA, I hurt the ones i love, It gets better for him i swear, M/M, PTSD, Sorry kinda, Trauma, You can tell i love Nero, triggering content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nupitrr/pseuds/Nupitrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's learned that you can never truly trust anyone in this world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting Over

**Author's Note:**

> Okay wow this has been simmering a while along with like everything in writing! But I decided what the hey and here it is. I'll try to get the next chapter out in a timely manner, but alas I am a small queer mentally ill student so I'll try my damnedst. I have like forty WIPs for dmc, until dawn, fnaf, and other fandoms and I'm working on finishing them up soon. Until then, enjoy Nero's suffering!
> 
> If you are triggered by child sexual assault, self harm, sexual/physical abuse, and things of that nature I advise you stay away from this fic.
> 
> Also if there are any grammar/spelling mistakes please tell me! I don't have a beta and I write most of my stories on my phone so it's harder to proofread

Nine years old.

It was Sunday morning, the usual service was over. All of the young children of Fortuna were gathered for their Sunday school lessons. Laughter rang through the church as the last minutes of learning wound down. The front doors were flung open, and the children were released into the streets. They ran and played, fluidly transitioning into the rest of their daily activities.

Nero was one of the last to leave. He stood up and walked towards the door, watching other kids get scooped up by family and siblings to be taken home. Kyrie had vocal practice and Credo had meetings with the Order every Sunday.

There was no being picked up by a loving parent for him.

He didn't see this as a negative thing; it gave him the opportunity to play with the other kids without any worries about Credo. As he slung his bag over his shoulder, another young girl with pigtails tugged on his sleeve, trying to lead him outside faster.

"Nero, don't leave yet. We'd like to talk to you about something." Two priests stood in across the room; his mind registered Father Seth and an unfamiliar face. They stood in the doorway for another room, one kept off-limits to the kids at all times.

Talk to him? He was curious as much as he was trembling, heart rate picking up involuntarily as he walked towards them. The three of them crossed the threshold into the empty back room, a room he'd become familiar with soon.

The doors locked; the priests talked. He was "special" to them, and he was so special that he deserved to have a special lesson with them. Innocent blue eyes lit up with anticipation. Something special just for him! The cold treatment that he received from most of the adults was something he was far too used to; being treated as highly as dirt for mere superstitions and unusual hair felt normal. He was almost too eager to say yes. Whatever it took, he wanted to hear more praise.

 

Bitter. It was bitter and acrid and a million other things he didn't want to taste. Betrayal and confusion coursed through him. There wasn't a choice in the matter; he had to do this for them or else...or else who knows what they could do. They could have him exiled, fire Credo, harm Kyrie. Having such a position in a religious town as this, they could ruin his life.

He blinked away the silent tears and focused on what he was doing.

It was impossible to tune out what they said. Horrid, obscene things that would haunt him years into his life, things that would make bile rise in his throat from memories. The acrid taste became stronger. His hand moved faster to the right of him, held fast by the other preacher. He hadn't even told Nero his name.

Two loud moans and a mess all over. He recoiled in disgust, the thick sour taste in his mouth unwelcome. White hair fell in his face and hid the tears that ran down his cheeks. His body shook. He just wanted to go home.

"Be a good boy and swallow that." A soft whimpering voice gave a weak protest. There wasn't anywhere for him to spit it out even if he could; the small handkerchief he was handed was barely sufficient for his hand. Teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut, it went down slowly. He could hear the soft laughter from one of them as they redressed, made themselves look appropriate again. When they stood, they made Nero follow. He stumbled behind silently with his backpack clutched tightly to his chest until they reached the front of the church once more. Nero took off immediately, saying nothing with his departure, desperate to get home, to get away from there.

He remembered loving the judgement-free environment of the church, where no one stared at him or whispered horrible things. It had been his favorite place to go. That day, however, was the last day he considered that church as his safe haven.

For five years of his life, every Sunday was something he dreaded--he'd been physically sick many times in anticipation. No one caught onto what they did to him because they were the only ones there. Their hands touched him; their penises pressed against him; he sat as quietly as he could and did what they said. Fourteen was the cutoff age for the classes; high school became a priority for kids that age. He had never looked forward to a birthday more than his fifteenth; he could hardly remember anything from the actual day other than the sheer relief he'd felt.

He avoided the church as much as humanly possible. Only when Kyrie was performing-- her performances in front of the whole town were infrequent, but when she did sing he made sure to be in the front row-- or when Credo dragged him in for an Order meeting would he show up there. He knew that they noticed his absence. He spotted them around town on brief occasions; a brush-by at the grocery store or a short bout of eye contact in the library, never a word spoken. 

One day he stopped seeing them altogether. Had they left? Died? That sounded more appealing to him. A year passed, then two and three; there was no sign of either priest. Nero finally felt at ease again, if only a little bit.

Then the attacks happened. The demons descending upon Fortuna, Dante's appearance, the whole shebang. Everything in his life felt in order now-- he was the head of the New Order, in Credo's place, and he lived with Kyrie in a strange dating-but-not-really kind of Purgatory. The incident was a distant memory, and his past felt like nothing more than a bad nightmare. He would've been content living on that small island his entire life.

It was years late when the flashbacks began to occur. It was a brief event at first, a few moments at the end of a dream one night that he shook off the next morning. Those dreams became more frequent, more graphic with each passing week; it got to the point that he was reliving the events in sickeningly sharp detail, hearing every sound over and over again. Countless times he woke during the night crying, sweating, shaking. One evening he woke shaking, eyes blurred with tears as he stumbled into the bathroom just in time to vomit. 

He thought he could live with the horrific dreams, but he wasn't ready for the triggers that would send him into panic attacks that would paralyze him and throw him into emotional turmoil. Using certain cleaning products, walking by certain buildings, even some foods became dangerous. He was able to figure out and avoid certain scenarios that he came to know as "triggering", yet a few still would develop and catch him by surprise. Shaking, sudden sobbing, fainting, and soiling himself. It became a task to exist outside of his own home without embarrassing himself somehow.

_He had to leave Fortuna. Immediately._

The last straw came when he was showering one night. The next thing he knew, Kyrie was shaking him, her voice shaking with fear. He'd puked in the shower, banged his head against the faucet, and fainted face down, nearly drowning himself. On his ride out of town he tried to figure out exactly what had caused that, but he came back with no answers. It would stay a mystery to him.

Kyrie knew, she'd known for years what had happened even before a sobbing Nero had come to her to confess it all. He'd told her when the dreams and panic attacks begun happening originally. She was the one to suggest that he leave. He insisted that he stay; the thought of leaving her alone here made him nauseous. 

"I'll be fine Nero, we're not kids anymore. I'll visit you sometime soon, so don't forget about me." Those were the last words they spoke face to face right before Nero stepped on the ferry to Capulet City, watching his past drift into the ocean that separate Fortuna from the rest of the world. There was a million things he didn't have sorted out; he had no plan for a home or job, and he hardly had any funds to work with. This whole arrangement was so impromptu that Nero had had no time to really prepare. He was tempted to ask the ferry captain to turn around...no, it would hurt Kyrie to see him so soon, to see that he chose her over his own health. Nero bit his lip and leaned against the railing, staring into the deep waters and letting the scent of the sea overwhelm him until he arrived.

He found the cheapest motel he could find. One tiny, stiff bed and a retro television along with a cubicle of a bathroom; it would have to do for now. He spent three days scouring the city for a cheap hole to live in before stumbling across a ratty old apartment with a seedy old woman for a landlord. He'd begun to spread his name around at some of the dives and bars in town, advertising himself for odd jobs and demon hunting. Thankfully, in a city like Capulet there were plenty of jobs to do.

The panic attacks came less frequently to his relief. He was able to avoid most of his obvious triggers on the regular and function like a normal person. It was a great change of pace from his past few years of life, and he couldn't be happier.

The dreams, however, never ended. In fact, as the panic attacks decreased, the amount and severity of his dreams grew. He was waking screaming and crying most nights, unable to go back to sleep afterwards with the fear of seeing the images once again. Purple bags under his eyes was a look he'd never considered until then, and it was something he became accustomed to quickly.

It was around the time that his dreams got to their worst that Nero discovered drugs.

A sheltered child let out on their own with no knowledge of the ins and outs of normal society was bound to get themself mixed up in a few substances sooner or later. Those sheltered kids were usually teenagers and freshmen in college, not a twenty-three year old hybrid demon. Nero didn't shy away when the guy in the bar first offered him a joint, nor did he object to the sedatives he was soon buying a few weeks later. It got to a point that if he wasn't working, he was high or drunk, blissfully numb to the world if only for a few hours.

He never had nightmares when he was high.

Never had panic attacks when he was drunk.

And it felt so damn _good._

It got to the point that any money he didn't spend on utilities went right into feeding his habits and buying snacks. He likes not being in pain all the time. He hated being fearful of having a panic attack at any time over the simplest things, and he hated andhis fear of sleeping, unwilling to see the memories of those years.

He was at the bar on a quiet Saturday, coming down from a high from that afternoon. He stared absently into a beer bottle, swishing the liquids around and watching the bubbles that formed. He heard someone sit down to his left but didn't look up, didn't care for human interaction. Then there was a hand on his arm, petting it gently until he looked up to catch the eyes of his drug dealer.

"Nero! What are you doing here?" Scotty withdrew his hand and raised it to call over the bartender. Nero watched her pour a shot for him, something strong that he wanted and was quick to order right after.

"Ain't got any jobs tonight, so I'm free to do whatever I want." He tipped back his beer and polished off what little drink had been left, finally feeling the warmth of alcohol fill him.

"Or _whoever_ , am I right." His bandaged demon hand froze as it headed towards the shot glass. He glanced at his drug dealer with a look of apprehension before he put his hands up in mock surrender.

"I was just joking. Although...you're running low on that Xanax, aren't you?" Nero stared into his shot glass, try and failing to hide the guilt in his eyes as he nodded. It'd been getting harder to go more than twenty-four hours without knocking back those damn pills, and he knew he needed to slow down before he developed even more of an immunity. Instead of being disappointed, Scotty was amused. Of course he was; the worse his addiction, the more drugs he had to buy.

"I was thinking, and uh don't shoot me for this, but what if you paid some other way for your supply?" He looked up, watching him move over the brim of his glass. Something in his stomach churned, not keen on the idea he was suggesting. He wasn't naïve-- he knew what he wanted. It was then that he realized he hadn't ever considered what he'd do when the topic of sex came up around...well anyone. His leg shook, knee tapping against the bar as he lowered his head again.

"What kinda payment 're you thinking of?" When had his heart started pounding like that? Oh god, was he going to have a panic attack? The lightheadedness scared him. Scotty moving his hand onto Nero's thigh didn't help at all.

What would happen if he just said no? He was a big guy, mostly muscle concealed by some fat and tattoos. However, Scotty was only a human, so he could easily take him in a fight. But if he got on his bad side there'd be no more drugs. He couldn't go back to living like that. Nero bot his tongue and kept his eyes looking down, swallowing his pride.

He leaned in next to Nero's ear. It took quite a few long breaths to calm himself down. Scotty chalked it up to arousal. Saw no difference between _yes I want you_ and _I'm going to cry if you don't stop touching me._ He smiled and kissed him on the neck, reveling in the brief taste of his skin. His nails were bearing down so hard on the countertop he was afraid they'd splinter.

"Please don't whisper in my ear." He was somehow able to choke out the words. Scotty leaned back and gave him an apologetic, concerned face. Nero shook his head in a vain attempt to clear the vivid memories that were surfacing from his head. He threw back whatever was left in his glass before turning back to him.

"Yeah sure, I don't mind. Your place or mine?"

It was another two drinks before he could consider the idea of sex without falling into a fit of hysterical tears. Even then he had to fight to keep himself sane as he felt Scotty undress him, kiss him, touch his body. Nausea and anxiety swelled inside of him, only mildly lessened by his drunken state. He hated how his tongue tasted like whatever alcohol he'd been drinking or how he was whispering "you like that?" as he fingered him. 

It was consensual, but he hated every minute of it.

When he heard Scotty opening the condom he rolled onto his stomach, feeling the tears that had been welling in his eyes to fall onto his pillow. It was dark enough that he wouldn't see it though, wouldn't hear his sobs muffled by the bed. It wouldn't matter anyway; a hot piece of ass wanting to get fucked from behind was all he needed to see at that point. Then he was fucking Nero, unaware of how he was crying in pain, stiff with fear. Scotty sped up, and he shrieked, afraid of him, shaking and clawing the bed. All he saw was Nero grabbing at the bedsheets, squealing in what he could only assume to be pleasure. And then he was coming, and it didn't matter anymore.

He waited for Scotty to pulled out and sit down behind him before he lowered his trembling hips slowly to the bed with a quivering breath. He made a vain effort to collect himself, attempted to calm his breathing and stay in touch with reality. Dissociating, just what he didn't need to do in this scenario. Yet there he was, feeling numb, out of touch with everything-- Nero felt cut off from reality in the most terrifying way. The memories and flashbacks swirled in his head. It brought him back slowly, but the numbness was replaced with horror and nausea as Scotty laid down next to him.

"You...you don't have to stay if you don't want to." Nero muttered, resting his head against his dealer's chest, shivering against his warmth. The hand in his hair made him freeze, but it was only temporary; it merely petted him instead of yanking him in one direction or another.

"Well what if I want to?”

"I...oh okay. That's fine too." Why was his hand on his head so soothing? He wasn't afraid of Scotty, he was afraid of the memories, afraid of the nightmares and panic attacks. Scotty didn't want to hurt him. When he held Nero closer as he felt tears on his bare chest, he knew that to be true. 

He fell asleep in his drug dealer's arms. He didn't dream that night, and he woke up alone with a brand new bottle of Xanax on his nightstand. It was the first time he slept with Scotty, and it wouldn't be the last.


	2. Blue Eyed Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had never known such a strong possessive feeling in his life.

He found himself in the arms of complete strangers at the end of most nights while he sobered up; it filled him with disgust and horror each time. He never truly got used to the feeling of another man kissing him, touching his body, fucking him. 

They never seemed to mind when Nero cried either.

Or shook.

Or whimpered in pain.

Most of them seemed to not care, or the tears and cries of agony merely added to the experience. He didn't mind; being worth nothing more than his body was something he'd grown used to long ago. At least these men would buy him drinks at a bar, and they'd leave him alone afterwards--this was usually when he fell apart completely.

He felt weak, dependant, incapable of truly being worth anything. Tears were washed down the drain, drowned with liquor, smothered with drugs. When he kept himself doped up, there was no remembering how worthless he felt, he _was._ Fight demons, get wasted, get fucked, repeat the next day.

The occasional meetings with Scotty created periodic breaks that he vaguely cared about. He remembered them meeting the day after that first night. There’d been a sudden hug, some sort of a mumbled apology, and then they gone out to eat at some local pizza joint. Nero had--in the most minimal way he could without talking about things he didn't need to know--explained what had happened that night.

“Well how could we avoid that happening?” Nero glanced at him over the rim of his glass. Now _that_ was something he didn't even know himself. There were so many things that set him over the edge that listing them all would be equivalent to writing a novel. He shook his head, drumming his fingers against the table.

“That's a bridge we'll cross when we get there.” _When_ felt too much like a promise in his mind; he hated it. Scotty laughed and took another slice of pizza to eat.

“Y’know, we can continue that deal we made last time. My drugs, your...companionship, shall we call it that? How does that sound?” A pang of anxiety in his chest made him nauseous. Nero took a bite of pizza, concentrated on chewing it instead of dwelling on his words. 

“That sounds doable.” He could hear Scotty sigh in relief. Was this that important to him or something? He was just another person to fuck, another transaction. It shouldn't have mattered that much to either of them. But it did.

They fucked in the bathroom afterwards. Scotty left with bruised shoulders and Nero left with a bag of weed.

 

He’d heard a few rumors that this was the city where Dante lived, and it didn't surprise him. Everything about every shady bar, overgrown cemetery, and homey diner was so reminiscent of him that he was more shocked that they hadn't bumped into each other yet. He just hadn't expected that today of all days they’d see each other.

Nero stepped into the diner--a retro dive that sold a burger he liked--as he finished counting the earnings from that morning. Two brief jobs had added to the small wad of bills that had ended up on his nightstand from the night before. It would suffice for now; at least he could buy legit food instead of McDonald's and corner store snacks. Not that he didn't like the taste, but his organs deserved better.

He sat down at a booth towards the back and ordered a vanilla shake, watching the waitress skate into the back. Okay, that was pretty cool. He whistled something nameless and watched nothing in particular, his eyes flickering from the window to the diner and back again.

He was aware of him before actually noticing him standing in front of his table. He could feel the pulsing heat in his arm as it hummed. He eased his hand towards his gun, fingers closing around the handle slowly and all at once he drew his weapon, aiming it at his head. Oh. Nevermind then. Nero slid his gun back into its holster and laughed, trying to hide his shock.

“Well I guess I wasn’t who you were expecting to see here.” Dante teased. Nero rested his forehead on his folded hands, shaking his head slowly as he sat down across from him. A waitress was over in a moment, took his order, and glided away just as quickly as she’d come. It felt almost surreal to be seeing him, the real Dante, after so fucking long. How long had it been now? Two years? Nearly three? Not that he’d been actively seeking him out, but Nero had been hoping to cross paths with him sooner than later.

“You look well.” It was the most stereotypical mundane small talk he could think of, and it brought out that deep laugh that made Dante’s eyes crinkle. Just as planned. 

“What's next, you gonna talk about the weather?”

“Well now that you mention it it _is_ nice outside…” This time He snorted and shook his head. His eyes were staring at something just beyond Nero's head, but his focus was on Nero.

“You're too much sometimes, kid.” There it was, that nickname that he’d been waiting for. His chest clenched painfully tight, uncomfortably tight, and he panicked. Shit, not now. But he didn't feel the familiar numbness in his hands nor did his body shake and his vision grow fuzzy. What the fuck? So was he _not_ having an attack? It was a relief, but it left him confused on what that had been.

“You alright?” Damn his expressive nature. Nero took a few deep breaths and nodded, plastering the best fake smile onto his face as the waitress came back with their orders.

The conversation flowed so naturally between then. It was as if they were making up for lost time, for lost years of laughter and stories that they should've shared. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. When he left he’d leave this familiarity, this home that he found in red leather and charming smiles.

Dante spoke up as he fished out his wallet. What he said filled him with a dreamy feeling of excitement.

“I've been thinking that you’d make a good...partner in crime shall we call it. Wanna come do a mission with me tomorrow, see how it goes?” It beat getting wasted and venting his anger through nonsensical screaming. Plus he didn't get paid for screaming at ceilings. And there was no Dante. No Dante was definitely a problem.

The mission went off without a hitch. The feeling of adrenaline running through his veins, that rush of excitement that came with fighting: this was a sensation he’d missed. Yeah he’d get missions like these every once in awhile, but they had become less frequent--which in retrospect was probably just Dante stepping up his game as he heard about competition. Fighting felt completely different with someone else by his side, someone whose actions parallel his own.

It was Dante who popped the question that Nero didn’t have the guts to ask. He proposed it off-handedly while they walked back towards his car. He’d been promised a ride home--maybe even some food if he played his cards right--and he definitely needed it. Something in his leg must've been pulled, and it hurt to walk on it until his body finished healing. So focused on picking out what parts of his body needed mending, he hardly registered when Dante started talking to him.

“Didja hear a word I just said, kid?” Nero turned towards him, obviously confused. “I asked where you're staying at? Gotta take you home at some point, and I was kinda curious about if you’d like to be my full-time partner?”

Silence, only broken by the sound of the car door opening and shutting as they got in. 

“I...you want me to be your partner?

“Yeah, kid. We work well together, and I think you could use a roommate; seems like you don't get much human interaction on the regular.” Nero laughed to himself, nodded his head instead of correcting him. He stayed quiet, thinking over his proposition as they ride into town. When they parked in front of Nero's apartment, he gathered his things and got out.

“I'll think about it, old man.” He called, the mocking tone of his voice obscured by the car door. Dante flicked him off with a smile that told him he knew the answer already. It had been decided the moment he had asked.

 

He hated the smell of so many humans in one place. Saturday nights like these had them everywhere. The sight of them was enough to have his blood boiling, had him yearning to spill blood. No, civility was the way to get along for now. At least this bar wasn't as crowded as the few he frequented; he’d have to keep tabs on it.

A drunken human stumbled away from the bar with a bottle in hand. To the left there was only one person; to the right there was no one. It was perfect. He slid onto the stool before anyone else could take the spot and ordered a whiskey. It didn't really have an effect on him, but he enjoyed the taste and finding the occasional attractive mortal to bring home for the night. Maybe not a human tonight. No, there was definitely a demon nearby.

It was the one to his left, hood covering his eyes while hair stuck out in every direction. _White hair._ His stomach turned, hand tensed around his glass. Of course he’d choose the bar that he was at. He was looking at something off in the distance, and the hoodie obscured his face. But it was him. _He knew it was him._

Except it wasn't. He watched with confusion drawing his eyebrows down as he drew back the red hood and revealed not a smug look of confidence but a seemingly lost gaze. His hair was a white halo that framed his face perfectly despite its messiness. And those eyes. Those baby blues that were devoid of emotions that they kept held under lock and key.

He had never yearned for another's touch the way he did when he saw that blue eyed boy.

He watched him drain the contents of his glass with not so much as a grimace. A guy who can hold his liquor, just his type. He waved his hand at the bartender to catch his attention before he turned away. With his other hand, he grabbed the blue eyed boy’s glass.

“Another one on me.” He announced proudly, shooting him a look of pride. Those blue were only mildly shocked as he settled back on his stool, arms resting on the bartop.

“Who gave you the right to do that?” His voice had an edge to it, but he was smiling as the bartender slid him his glass. He was quick to down half of it in a moment.

“It's the polite thing to do. Especially for a potential partner.” What was that look in his eyes? It went by too quick for him to figure it out; it was drowned in liquor and a coy glance in his direction.

“We'll see about that.” He muttered. “You don't even know my name.” 

“Not necessary so long as you know mine. Name's Etnad, Et for short. Now you know what to moan later tonight.” That made him smile and tip his drink back more.

“Aren't you cocky?” He quipped. Then finally, “it's Nero. Pleasure’s mine.” Et grinned, bit his lip as Nero finished his drink. He was quick to order another and insisted that he pay this time. The alcoholic haze that was finally settling over his eyes made him laugh to himself as he sipped his whiskey.

It was aggressive. Not that he wasn't used to being roughed up, but even this was more than he usually got. He felt the teeth on his neck and the bite of nails In his thighs. He was pinned on his bed and stripped with animalistic hunger. When they kissed, he felt the dominating force of his demon against his own. It made him feel dizzy, powerless. He whimpered, demon hand clenching helplessly in Et’s grip. 

And he _growled_. 

The sound was terrifying. He felt himself physically shrink down, as far away as he could. Et was having none of it. His hands demanded attention. The bruises made certain that this moment together would be shown to everyone who embraced him. Every time he bit down on his skin Nero would whimper and he would growl in response.

The whimpers and soft moans were even better when muffled by his cock being thrust in and out of his mouth. That demonic hand was sinfully skilled now, so much so that he was brought to orgasm. He made certain to return the favor two-fold.

The gasp and whimpers became moans and hisses of breath as his hips rolled against Et with each strike of his hips. When he came a second time, he laid back and watched, felt the way he seemed desperately hungry and perfectly in control all at once. He let out a throaty groan and came inside of him, fingers digging into Nero's hips as he fucked him through his orgasm. He was nibbling the skin of his neck, running his fingers through his mess of hair. Nero wanted to melt into his touch, but there was another feeling gnawing at him, filling him with a nauseous dread.  
Guilt.

They didn't cuddle afterwards. He hardly ever did with anyone. His face was buried in his pillow as he tried to suppress his disgust and guilt. He felt the familiar heat of tears of his face, the wetness on his pillow as he passed out.

Et watched curiously as the boy's shoulders jerked with silent tears before he settled into a fitful sleep. He crawled out of bed and pulled on his boxers, keeping his eyes on Nero until he knew that his blue eyed boy was unconscious now. He would leave in the morning, and then he’d leave Nero forever. As if he’s letting that happen.

He takes Nero's phone and sends a blank message to himself. His phone number pops up, and he adds it immediately. Moments later he finds himself mindlessly scrolling through the few text conversations he had. One from a mortal named Scotty, some from _him,_ and a few other unlisted contacts. That wouldn't do at all. This one, he claimed this one as his own now. This blue eyed boy was irresistible. The thought of another having him made his blood boil.

He would definitely come visit Nero again.


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were many things he didn't know about his new partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn Daniel, back at it again with those late chapters. Sorry I'm so inconsistent with all of my stories, I'm trying and failing as you can tell.

Walking home was the most surreal experience.

He was reeling, brain still trying to process what had happened. He remembered Credo telling him about “stranger danger” and how to tell someone to stop if they touched you in a way you didn't like, but this was...somehow different. Maybe it was the authority that he held over him, or perhaps it was the inherent trust Nero felt for his decisions.

That wasn't a decision he’d liked. It was the only one he had ever questioned, argued against. Fought against. Cried over. Still was crying over, wiping the tears from his eyes as he walked through the front door. He could hear the tv on in the living room, and Kyrie's shoes were by the front door. He closed the door loud enough to make himself known, but he didn't respond when Credo greeted him.

His mind was swimming, and his body felt heavy.

Nero fell limp on the bed, still gripping his bag. He didn't quite understand at that time, at that age why he felt so...dirty. So betrayed. It was only once, right? And he was an adult who knew what he was doing. But thinking about it made him squeamish. 

There was a knock at his door, and Kyrie walked in on her choir robes. She looked concerned. Sat on the bed next to him silently. They sat for a while in silence, then she finally spoke--whispered really.

“You alright?” He was slow to respond, because he really had to think about it. _Was_ he alright? 

“I guess.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Instead of speaking, he shook his head. She petted his hair in the same motherly way she always did when he was moody.

He wondered if she had known from the beginning what was wrong.

 

Two weeks now that he’d been sober. It sucked. Every minute of every hour was torture. It was as if his flashbacks had come back with a vengeance, knowing he couldn't fend them off the way he always did. It made him sleep more, even if unconsciousness gave him no protection from the nightmares.

He just felt so _drained._ All of it was too fucking much for him. He knew that Dante probably wouldn't tolerate his shop smelling like weed when he moved in. Maybe he would. It wasn't as if he’d asked. Who asks that kind of shit? Focus time. He needed to finish packing. 

They had both decided that it would probably be best for his health to move into Devil May Cry. Dante was just concerned with how much human interaction he actually got on the regular. He didn't have a problem with a roommate doing all those chores Lady always nagged him about--it didn't hurt that Lady and Trish had taken a liking to the kid from the moment they'd met him. It was like he had been there his entire life, and in a matter of a week everything was running as it should've.

Slipping away in the night was something Dante didn't notice at first. Nero was there when he was conscious, and when he woke the next day he was there again. It wasn't as if he was checking in on the kid during the night or something; he wasn't five, he could take care of himself.

He only caught on one night after he'd come home drunk and crashed on the first mildly comfortable surface. When he woke in the darkness, face down on the couch, it was from the sound of the front door slamming shut. His mind ran into high alert, and he was on his feet before he was fully conscious of his decision to follow him out the door. He stayed far enough behind Nero, about a block of following distance, so that his demonic presence wouldn't immediately give him away.

Nero slipped into an alleyway. He lingered around another building and leaned against a wall, trying and most likely failing to look like he was casually hanging out at this time of night. He could hear him talking softly to someone else--a human, male, probably a bit older than Nero from what he could tell. The distinct sound of pills rattling in a jar was over as soon as he registered it, replaced by the rustling of clothing. Dante didn't have to see it to know what was happening, as if loud sucking noises and moaning weren't a dead giveaway.

He dipped into a different alley as they said goodbyes and waited for Nero to pass by him before trailing behind him once again. He caught a glimpse of his face as he passed and saw the unmistakable redness in his eyes, glistening with tears that had begun to fall. On the way home, Dante caught him sniffling a few times, and he rubbed at his face more and more as he approached Devil May Cry. He stood outside for a minute, wiping away the last of his tears and regulating his uneven, hiccupy breath before opening the door, much softer this time. Dante waited a few minutes before following him inside, giving him time to ascend to his room and not make it too obvious he’d had an audience that evening.

He never brought that night up with Nero. Never asked about the pills or the guy or the sex and especially not the crying.

It didn't seem to show the next day or the day after. He was the same loud mouth hunter he knew and held mutual respect for. Seemed absolutely normal. So what he had a weird other life outside of work? He was an adult and allowed to have secrets, and Dante respected that. He wasn't one to pry on topics that weren't any of his business; believe it or not, he had boundaries. That is until it interferes with him personally.

Their rooms were down the hall from each other. Dante had cleared out an old room that he’d used to stash random shit he was too lazy to sort through just so Nero would have a place to stay. Close to the bathroom, not far from Dante in case he needed something, and a window that caught some decent sunlight in the morning. Not a bad room to crash in.

It was a particularly _lovely_ dream that night, one of his _favorites._ That first time when he was ten, tears soaking his cheeks and blood running down his thighs. His sobs grating away at an already raw throat, whimpering softly like a broken record. “Please stop. Stop. It hurts,” over and over until he was finished. Except in his dreams he was never finished. It just kept going until he woke up or, on some nights, until it faded into yet another memory. This wasn't one of those nights.

He laid there, reliving the pain of his nails digging into the floor and a hand yanking his hair for what must've been hours. The worst was when he spoke. He knew the words well, could recite everything that he’d said to him that day if you asked him to. But the words were distorted and loud, painfully loud, and every time he spoke the boy in his dreams would shriek. It was deafening and absolutely horrifying. The throbbing in his head coupled with the agony in his lower body was too much. He wanted to faint.

He awoke with a screech of shock to the dead of night. He was shaking, the room painfully cold. No, it was just him that was cold. Exhausted. Mental and physically exhausted. That one was the worst of them. He stumbled over to his dresser, threw open the second drawer and groped around blindly before swearing. Had he really gone through all of those pills so quick? Maybe he could sneak down and drink himself unconscious. In the state he was in, he’d collapse on the stairs.

Fuck, he just wanted to sleep. Nero whimpered and laid back down, feeling the fatigue wrap its fingers around his neck and pull him into unconsciousness. But as soon as he found sleep, that distorted voice came to life once again, and he sat upright in an instant. Checked his phone in hopes that maybe it was still early enough to phone Scotty. It was two-something in the morning: not happening. He just wanted to _sleep._

Tears running down his cheeks, he staggered down the hallway, demonic hand braced against the wall as he opened the door to his partner's room. He could feel his presence in the bed and sighed-- a pathetic, hiccuping breath, and a shivering breath out. It was hard to make his body move towards the bed with the knowledge only of there being a man in that bed. His frazzled mind was paranoid, screaming that _it's him it has to be he's right there he's right fucking there you idiot don't you see he's trying to lure you to him again._ He fought the urge to turn and run back to his room. Pulled back the covers to reveal that familiar white hair of Dante's, calming his anxiety if only for a moment. He curled up next to him, not touching him, and suppressed his tears long enough for him to pass out.

 

Pure shock was all he felt. He had never expected to wake up to Nero laying next to him, especially since he hadn't been there when he passed out. What time was it, like two-thirty? And there he was, with tear stains on his cheeks and curled up in the fetal position. Shaking. Mumbling and whimpering. He sounded like a beaten puppy and damn well looked like one too.

He grabbed the kid by the shoulder and shook him gently a few times until he stirred. His eyes were big, bleary and confused as he felt.

“Hey, no problem with you sleeping in here but could ya warn me beforehand next time?” Nero squinted at him, still trying to clear the sleep from his mind. All at once, his eyes shot wide and he was crying again, body convulsing with sobs. His eyes were cloudy with the half conscious state of his mind as he hid his face in the pillows.

“I'm sorry please don't hurt me again.” His voice was so small and muffled that he almost didn't catch what he said. Again? What the hell was his problem? Honestly, it was too fucking late at night to ask questions. Instead, Dante pulled him against his chest and rubbed his back, making shushing sounds softly until he was cried out and had passed out again.

He slept on his back with Nero clutching his shirt for dear life. It was damp with tears, but he’d be damned if he was gonna try to take it off without waking the kid and throwing him into whatever the fuck that had been for a second time.

He didn't have a chance to question the kid as soon as he woke; Nero was gone before he was up.

 

He groggily made his way downstairs, bare feet freezing against the hardwood. If Dante weren't so broke he’d suggest heated floors. His mind was still clouded with the nightmares of the night before and the freakout he had on Dante. Poor guy was probably confused as hell.

Out of pills, he stumbled into the kitchen to take a beer from the fridge.Nero dug through the drawers for a bottle opener and found an opened pack of cigarettes, long forgotten. He wasn't one to smoke, but fuck was he desperate for something to calm him. He grabbed three and the lighter next to it and made his way to the window.

When Dante finally stumbled downstairs, he found Nero with an empty bottle next to him, blowing smoke out of the window. He looked less than content with the situation but ultimately resigned. He absently knocked the ashes out the window into the bushes outside and sighed out a billowy cloud of toxic smoke, letting it engulf him.

“Great, yet another shitty habit I'll hafta kick sometime.” He grumbled, staring into the embers of the cigarette as if searching for answers. He finally caught sight of Dante and waved at him with his human hand while taking a drag with the other. He made his way over and sat on the windowsill next to Nero, kicking aside the beer bottle.

“Didn't know you smoked.” He started, gesturing towards him absently.

“I don't. Usually at least.” His tone sounded bitter. “Hope you don't mind me borrowing yours.”

“I don't. Never use them.” Silence. He watches Nero take another drag, exhale, then continues. “So you gonna tell me what last night was about or am I gonna be left guessin’.” Nero laughs, a dry sound that probably barely constitutes as a laugh to most people.

“I got nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks, you name it. Last night was bad, sorry about that.” He doesn't meet Dante's eyes now. He's preoccupied with the birds outside on the steps. “That's why I'm smoking now. To calm myself.”

 _That's why you blew a guy for some pills._ He almost says it. _Almost._ Holds back at the last second and nods his head, bites his tongue.

“Care to inform me _why_ ya got all of that shit going on?”

“No, actually, I don't.” Dante is taken aback, and, much to his delight, Nero can tell. He laughs, a real laugh this time. “I'll tell you someday, remind me another time. I'm just...not now. Its kinda fresh right now. Like I said, last night was bad.” 

It was sufficient for now. Dante stood without another word. Kicked the bottle out of his way yet again and made his way towards the phone to call in the daily pizzas.

“We gotta job in a few hours. Be ready.” Nero throws him a thumbs up, still staring absently out the window. The cigarette hangs out of his mouth, smoke seeping from the end in long grey tendrils that rise to the ceiling. Dante watches for a minute, transfixed by how calm he looks in this moment. Thinks back to last night to his face of sheer terror, remembering how he was falling apart. And he realizes begrudgingly that the kid has quite a few secrets, believe it or not, and he wanted in on a few of them.


	4. Sweet Dreams, Bitter Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wishes the memories would just _stop_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not mean to take a hiatus but it happened haha. Young God has a chapter update in progress as does Three Words. I'm also working on several other dmc, snk, and DC fics so stay tuned!

The first few times it happened, it wasn’t particularly “painful” to him physically. Nero followed along with whatever they wanted to do to him without issue, just like the obedient child they knew he was. It was only after they'd had their fun for several weeks that he finally protested. He spoke up when they brought him into the back room, the same way they always did.

“Father, I don't wanna have the lessons anymore.” Father Seth looked down at him, eyes passive and uncaring.

“What’s made you change your mind?”

“I...I don't like it. I haven't liked it from the first time. I don't like these special lessons; can we please stop?” His hand paused on his belt and he chuckled, staring at something behind Nero. There was a tense silence between them. Nero did his best to stay quiet while he rocked back and forth. Was it really that much to think about? He opened his mouth again.

“I’m afraid that’s just too bad, darling.” Nero’s face creased with confusion. Before he could protest, Father Seth’s hand gripped his chin roughly, drawing their faces towards each other. “You see, we chose you for this. You don’t get to just opt out whenever.” The boy tried to flinch away only to have fingernails dig into his skin. His other hand finished undoing his belt as he spoke. “In fact, you did this as much as we did, but you already know that. Now kneel.”

Nero made a soft whine but complied, earning the same sickly sweet smile he got every time. He stiffened as he felt a hand in his hair. Unwelcome. Everything about this was screaming no. The hand in his hair pulled harder and Nero grunted, fingers baring into his thighs as he fought against him. It hurt. All he could think about was the pain in his hair and the lack of control he had over it all. His hair was let go, and Nero was sent onto his back. His eyes were shocked.

He watched the hand come down for him. Felt the sting of his palm against his face and the residual burn that was left behind. He was too stunned to scream, too shocked to react at all. Why did he hit him? Nero stared up at him, confused and dazed as he was pulled onto his knees again.

This time he didn’t resist. His mouth fell open with a whimper and he was silent as he felt Father Seth thrust against him. He was too afraid to fight back. His body felt numb now. The realization of it all settled over him. This was all for _his_ benefit. The tears fell without restraint now; there was no reason to hold them back.

 

The job was somewhere out in the countryside. Some older couple had called and complained about something that looked like the lovechild of a bat and a raccoon that had made unholy noises. Lady was quick to drop the job off for Dante, saying that “I have better things to do than chase these low levels. Plus I’ll give you fifty percent profit.” Cash and something to do was all Dante needed to hear. 

Nero was just happy for a distraction. His head was swimming with the remains of last night's dream, words floating through his mind. They drove out three hours from Capulet, and he did his best to sleep on the way. Every time he felt his body relax the memories would flood him again. And every time his eyes would shoot open, staring ahead at the dusty road before flickering over to Dante, who would occasionally spare him a glance. After the third time, his eyes stayed glued to the road, and Nero rolled onto his side to avoid the obvious tension.

He'd seen how Dante's hands had tensed on the wheel whenever he woke up. He _knew_ something was wrong, something he wanted to help with but couldn't. Why was it such a big deal to him anyway? It wasn't like the guy could wave a magic wand over him and erase a whole five years of his life from his memories. There was nothing he could do but give him pity. Just like every-fucking-one else. Thinking of it like that made him feel better about not telling Dante.

His eyelids drooped and finally, _finally_ , he felt sleep coming over him when the car jolted forward suddenly. He was thrown against the dashboard, devil bringer digging into the seat as he bounced back. Nero's head whipped around, eyes wild with fury as he stared at Dante then at the road. In front of them was a small hoard of Chimera Scarecrows, all banging against their car. 

“Not like we're not already gonna be late.” Dante murmured. His seat belt was undone and he had Ivory in his hand as he flung the driver's side door open. Nero took a moment to evaluate their situation before undoing his own seatbelt. 

“Maybe you should stay in here, kid. You seem out of it. ‘Sides it ain't anything I can't handle.” He watched his words fall on deaf ears. Right as he spoke, Nero stepped outta the car, closing-- _slamming_ \--the door behind himself. His hand was around the hilt of his sword, revving her up before sweeping her clean through the middle of two Scarecrows.

The Scarecrows were a welcome thing. Maybe not to Dante, but for Nero it was nice to blow off a little steam before they arrived at their destination. The demons were dispatched almost too quickly, and they piled back into the car, but not before Dante threw a fit over the scratches in the paint and crack in the windshield. 

As they started down the road, Nero's phone buzzed. He knew he should've left the damn thing home. Nero fished it out of his pocket and unlocked it, reading the message that popped up.

 **Unknown:** come over tonite 

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to figure out who had texted him. It wasn't his dealer, unless of course he had gotten another new number. But surely he would state his name if that was the case. The only other people who should've had his number were Dante, Trish, and Lady. He tapped out a response.

 **Nero:** Who is this? Why do you have my number?

He watched the screen as it faded black only to jump to life once more with another incoming message.

 **Unknown:** surely you couldn't have forgotten me after how I made you beg that night?

He knew that he'd caught Dante's attention when he sucked in a breath of shock. He knew Dante could see the way his hands were shaking, how he swallowed visibly. All he could think of is how rough he'd been, how his words were too familiar to ones he'd heard before.

 **Nero:** How did you get my number?

 **Unknown:** I have my methods. I expect you here this evening. Here's my address

Another text came in with the address of an apartment. He recognized the street, one just a few blocks from Devil May Cry. There were no more texts that came in for him; Et had established what he wanted, and he knew that was all it took. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and sat back against the seat, shoulders holding visible tension.

The last hour of the trip passed in silence. Nero's hand stayed poised over his pocket, ready for whenever another message came through. It never came. 

He only became aware of his paranoia when they pulled onto a dirt path that led up to a small farmhouse. Dante motioned for him to stay, and he slipped inside only to return moments later.

“Said the sounds were coming from the old stables back there.” Dante repeated as Nero stepped out of the car. He had Blue Rose drawn from her holster to match Dante, who was toting Ivory. They took the dirt road all the way back to the stables. It was an old, dilapidated excuse for a stable with wood that had long since rotted and the stench of feces and death lingering in the greying hay. 

Nero felt his arm begin to pulse and raised his weapon, aiming her at the stall door. Dante took a glance toward him and copied his defensive posture, drawing Ebony from his hip. 

Before they had a chance to open the door, an Assault lept out at them. It was followed by many more; each was in its own state of disrepair or demonic infection, and they were all angry.They wasted no time. Gunfire sounded off through the pasture and they took down each hellhound, giving them a quick and merciful death. 

The largest one stalked out towards them. Its eyes glowed an eerie shade of green, and blood dripped from its maw. Nero could smell the blood, _human_ blood, and grief washed over him as he realized where the stench of death had come from. 

He shot at it once, twice, three times before giving up. Nero grabbed for his sword when it pounced on him, shoving him to the ground. The Assault growled in his face, spewing blood and saliva everywhere as it snapped at him. Its claws dug into his shoulder and tore at his arm, and it took effort not to yell out in pain. All at once it was over; the demon's head rolled off into the grass next to Dante's blade, and its lifeless corpse fell off of Nero's body.

“You're welcome.” Dante quipped, extending his hand out to help Nero up. He brushed grass and blood off of his clothes, wincing at the sharp pain in his shoulder. 

“Those claws mean business.” He muttered, shrugging almost nonchalantly when Dante gave him a look. Almost nonchalant since he winced on the way down. The scratches were as good as gone, but those wounds would take a while to repair themselves.

“Obviously you're not much of a dog person.” Dante joked, sheathing his sword as he made his way back onto the dirt road. Yeah, well _he_ wasn't the one covered in demon dog slobber. He rolled his shoulder a few times before putting Blue Rose in her holster and following Dante back to the car.

The elderly couple who owned the place were ecstatic. Finally they could get some rest at night without fearing for their chickens or worse themselves. They offered to let the two stay for dinner, even went as far as to suggest they wash up before they head back into town. They declined--Nero politely, Dante hastily-- and were out the door and on the road with an envelope printed with Lady’s name.

This time when Nero tried to sleep he was overwhelmed with the feeling of the Assault shoving him down, its foul breath in his face. The creature morphed into _his_ face, that cruel smile that was artificially sweet. It wavered between him and the Assault, sometimes becoming a gruesome cross between the two. Just as he began to wake, the face changed again. It became Etnad.

He sat up abruptly only to find that he'd slept the entire way home. Restless sleep full of nightmares, but it had been sleep nonetheless. Nero wanted nothing more than to wash off the day's work and throw himself into bed. He unbuckled his seatbelt; as his hand went by, he felt the familiar shape of his cell phone and paused. Shit.

Dante was halfway up the front steps when he realized Nero wasn't following him. Instead, he had walked over to the motorcycle that was parked next to the car and thrown the helmet on. He could've explained where he was going; he could've at least told a lie so that Dante wouldn't be left wondering where his partner was running off to at this time of night. 

Could've, should've, didn't. He was straddling the bike before Dante could get a word in, and in seconds he was racing back down the street they'd just been on.

He didn't need instructions to get to Et’s house, seeing that he knew this area all too well. Nero parked his bike in the adjacent alley and tugged the helmet off, tucking it under his arm as he strode up the stairs. He wouldn't be here long. Just long enough to tell him what was on his mind: that night had been a one time thing, and he wanted to move on.

He faltered in his steps as the familiar demonic energy hit him, filled him with dread. He took an automatic step back, body tensed for a fight. The door flew open next to him, and he stood there in the shadows, crimson eyes observing Nero, _daring_ him to turn back. No words were exchanged between them yet, but Nero felt as if someone was commanding him to come forward, up the stairs and into his arms.

Et was a dervish of motion, discarding Nero's jacket at the door and pinning him to the wall. He couldn't speak around the tongue on his mouth, couldn't voice his disinterest in their relationship. It was exactly what Et wanted and he knew it. He knew it before he felt the press of his manhood against his thigh or the deep growling voice in his ear.

He didn't remember getting undressed, didn't remember being brought into Et’s bedroom. But he was there, laying on his back while kisses were pressed into his skin and fingers danced over his chest. His ministrations stopped at his shoulder. A curious finger brushed over the puncture wounds, mostly healed by now but still visible against his pale skin.

“Have you been bad for someone other than me?” Nero grimaced and turned his head away as his eyes roamed over the fading scratches. He waited for Et to tease him more, to make another snide comment about the injury or even the old scars that littered his body.

His demeanor shifted, pupils dilating as he took another long inhale of Nero's scent. He growled again, the same deep predatory noise that made Nero shrink in on himself. Et spread his legs wide, running his hand slowly up one thigh until he reached Nero's cock.

“Let go.” His voice had returned, too little too late. Et stroked his manhood slowly, watching it swell as Nero's breathing became more labored. He smiled to himself, obviously pleased with what he'd done. Nero's legs were over his shoulders, and he was inside of him, seated all the way in him.

Nero's body tensed; he sucked in a breath like it was the last one he'd take. Then Et was thrusting, hard and relentless as he dug his fingers into the soft skin of his thighs, bruising them, scratching them. He wished those bruises would remain past the hour. He wanted everyone to see whose bitch he was.

It would be over soon. It was a mantra he'd taught himself years ago. Eyes squeezed shut, shallow inhales and ragged exhales as he neared his orgasm, he repeated it over and over again, willing the words to be truth. That he would finish and then he could--

He stopped breathing completely. There were hands around his throat, holding him in a vice grip as Et thrust hard into him. His hips stuttered every few thrusts, and his breathing was labored. But Nero didn't care about that. He was hardly even aware of it. 

The hand at his throat had him in a frenzy. His mind was overflowing with memories. The same feelings of helplessness and pain tinged with the sickest nostalgia. Another man's hand around his throat, a much smaller version of himself. Tears poured down his cheeks as he lifted his hands to his neck. He clawed at Et’s arm, whimpering softly through soft hiccuping breaths as Et fucked him harder, pushed himself over the edge. 

It was over as fast as it had come. The hand fell away from his neck and he pulled out, leaving Nero half aroused and sobbing into the pillow. Et leaned over him, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he wept.

“Darling there's nothing to be afraid of. I cherish you and would never truly hurt you.” Nero shook the hand off of his back, shuddering with the loss of warmth. He took in big gulps of air, making himself calm down enough that he could breath again, though tears still came from his puffy red eyes. He stood on legs far too weak to carry him anywhere, but he forced himself to go forward.

“I'll shower and go then.” He rasped, stumbling towards the door. The bathroom had to be near here. 

Arms. There were arms around his torso, pulling him back into a warm body that filled him with dread. Et kissed the top of his head lovingly. He could feel his cum dripping down his thighs along with the breath in his hair. Calm breathing, steady and certain. In control. Not a fucking wreck.

“You can shower, but you're staying here tonight.” Nero turned around, breaking away from Et’s grip and looking at him. Was he _serious right now_?

“I'm not staying here. This is the last time we're doing this and I'm _leaving tonight_.” He turned to leave, turned to make his way to the bathroom when his hand wrapped around his wrist. He was a full demon; strength wise, he was no match for Et. 

His lips moved. The words came out, words he'd heard in countless nightmares, in memories he would do anything to forget. He spoke them with the intent to hurt him, as if he knew the gravity of them. All the while he wore a smile that sent Nero to his knees.

“You don't get to just opt out whenever.”

He felt sick. Physically sick. He retched once, his insides turning over at the memory of the words. Nero sank to his knees as all feeling in his limbs left him hollow and numb. Et watched him with a triumphant grin before stepping past him through the doorway. He heard a door open and shut, then water started up. Shower, he should shower.

There was no strength left in his body to stand in a shower. He barely had the will to crawl to Et’s bed and climb beneath the stained sheets and even that took nearly ten minutes. His body was shivering with the flood of memories. How did he know? Or maybe he didn't know; maybe he just happened to say the “right” thing in the perfect way. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks again, and he was helpless to stop them. 

Nero lay there, willing the memories to stop as he lay limp beneath the covers, listening to the shower as it turned off. He heard the door open and felt Et’s presence once again before he slipped under the sheets with Nero. He placed a possessive hand on his hip and pulled his body close against his own. He knew Et was probably asleep, but he couldn't will himself into unconsciousness. He knew what dreams would wait for him tonight.


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all he could do was run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a playlist for honey! If you have any song suggestions please comment them below!!!! This is the link!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/junjouoverdose/playlist/6L3C5iZtUh9IRoEoGhAauX

“Nero, we need to talk.”

He was hunched over a textbook, left hand moving steadily as his eyes swept over the words. Nero glanced up at his sister for barely a second before directing his attention back to his studies. Kyrie fumed. Perhaps _fume_ wasn’t the best word for it; she was too mild-mannered for such irate emotions. Her hand landed palm-down in the center of Nero’s textbook.

It was apparent that whatever she wanted she was determined to get. Nero rolled his eyes before looking up and froze. In her other hand she held a pair of his underwear, stained with blood, and a few stained tissues. He could feel the color drain from his face.

“Nero, what is _this_?” She exclaimed. His grip on his pencil tightened. Nero tried futilely to turn back to his studies.

“Blood, obviously. What of it?” It was hard to keep his voice steady. Nero thought over each word as he spoke, made sure not to stumble; uncertainty would give him away.

“Why is it in your underwear, Nero?” There it was, the words he’d been dreading. He should've burned them, should’ve thrown them away somewhere far from home. Kyrie didn’t need to know about his problems. He swallowed heavily and exhaled slow.

“It was nothing, Kyrie. Just some _blood_.” His voice cracked on the last word. That sealed his fate. Kyrie’s eyebrows drew together as she sat down on the bed next to Nero, smoothing out her skirt when she did. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and rubbed up and down slowly. His first reaction was to tense.

“Nero, I know something’s wrong. You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t judge you, and it’ll be between the two of us. Promise.” Kyrie whispered, her voice a soft lilt in his ear. He couldn’t take it. Nero felt the tears begin to stream down his face before he let out that first agonized sob. Immediately he moved to bury his face into Kyrie’s shoulder and cried. He felt her hand massage his back slowly, almost maternally as his body heaved with the intake of breath.

From there it all just came out.

If only it were as easy now as it had been years ago.

 

 

He wasn’t usually one to snoop in other people’s dreams without their consent. Granted, feeding from dreams was a power that Et neglected most of the time. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought if it weren’t for the deliciously negative energy that he could taste, radiating off of the blue-eyed boy next to him. 

Et leaned over his prone body, trembling in unconsciousness, and pressed his palm against Nero’s forehead. He inhaled hard before adjusting to the torrent of emotions that filled him. Agony, remorse, mourning, guilt, fury; they all began to meld together until he could barely distinguish them from each other.  
He saw the face of a man, much older than Nero was, and a version of Nero much younger than what he saw before him. The man’s hand was on his shoulder, gripping it tightly but in a way that looked familiar to anyone around them. He was guiding Nero out of the main space of what appeared to be a chapel and into some backroom. His hand slid down Nero’s back, towards his-

Everything sped up suddenly. It was a blur of movements and whimpers of pain. There was blood, there were screams of denial quickly muted by a hand. Then there were tears. There were ripped clothes everywhere and splotches of blood. It became him walking down an endless road, drops of blood and screams of pain following him. Each street sign was playing a memory; graphic and brutal as they were, he stopped to watch each one of them..

Et could feel the pulses of energy filling him, dark and full of resentment. He pressed his mouth against Nero’s throat, feeling the rhythm of his rapid flowing pulse beneath his lips. He tasted as good as his dreams did, his skin smelling of sweat and his own natural scent. It was the first time that he fed in months, and only then did he realize how hungry he was. Et fed like a man on the brink of death.

It was another hour before Nero stirred from his fitful sleep. His eyes shot open like a man possessed, and Et jumped back in shock. He expected some sort of protest or retort, him asking why Et had been wrapped around him that way. Instead those baby blue eyes stared blankly at him, confused and dazed. Perhaps he had fed a little _too_ much. 

“Good morning beautiful.” he purred, running a hand through dark hair. Nero looked at him and blinked, almost as if he hadn’t heard him. He sat up, back pressed against the headboard as he took a steadying breath. Without a word, Nero threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He began to collect his discarded clothing, legs shaking with each step.

“I have to go I have to go I have to go I have to go,” his words tumbled out of his mouth in a fast blur of syllables. Et didn’t try to stop him. He watched, mildly curious as he stumbled into his clothing, muttering as he dressed himself frantically. Nero barely stopped to put on his boots before he was headed towards the door. Et finally stood up and followed him.

He followed behind Nero with no sense of urgency. Nero ambled across the apartment until he was flush with the front door. He was breathing heavily, panicked, confused. All he wanted was to leave, to be far away from him. There was a hand on the door right above his head. Nero turned and came face to face with Et, red eyes boring into his skull.

“Do you have to leave so soon?” his voice was a deep growl in Nero’s ear. Et leaned down to kiss him only to have his lips graze Nero’s hair. He frowned, face buried in white licks as he ran a hand through them. Et quickly took hold of Nero’s chin and forced him into a breathtaking kiss. He could feel how tense he was against Et's body.

He had Nero pinned against the door, lips against his own, for what felt like forever. Nero began to whimper; he reached up with his claws and pulled on Et’s hair, urging him to pull back He did, although much slower than what Nero would have liked. He groped blindly for the doorknob behind him, eyes locked on Et. Nero shoved him forward and flung the door open, leaving the door ajar as he snatched his helmet off the floor.

Nero was panting by the time he made it to his bike. He pulled his helmet on and straddled the motorcycle, breathing ragged and hands shaking. He couldn’t come here again. He had almost had a panic attack when Et had grabbed him like that. Nero tried to steady his breathing as he started his bike and pulled onto the main road again.

 

 

He expected Dante to be asleep; it was barely noon, and he never got up until there was a call. Nero walked in to see him at his desk, magazine over his face and feet on the desk. As the door shut behind him, Dante sat upright immediately, magazine fluttering to the floor. Nero started, almost jumping out of his skin with the sudden movement. 

“Where were you?” Dante bit. Nero dropped his helmet on the ground and sighed.

“I was out. Why does it matter?” Nero snarled. He wasn’t some kid, he could do what he wanted. Dante swung his legs onto the floor and stood. He wasn’t wearing his usual red coat; it was draped over the back of the chair. Dante strutted across the room to the couch where Nero had flopped down.

“You could barely hold it together yesterday, then you just leave?” Nero glared up at Dante, looking annoyed. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. This wasn’t how he wanted this scenario to go. It should’ve been on his own terms when he wasn’t just coming down from what had happened that morning.

“And your point is?” Nero huffed. Dante shook his head as he sat down on the couch right next to Nero’s feet.

“Look kid,” he sighed, “I wasn't gonna bother you about this. I mean it's your business and i have no reason to be in it, but now you're all shaken up on missions and running off in the middle of the night again?” Nero opened his mouth to protest but Dante held up his hand. “Yeah, I know about _that_. You're not nearly as sneaky as you think.

“If there's something up, just tell me. I've had it rough my life, I won't judge ya. Just let me know what's up so I can at least try to understand this shit.” Dante reclined against the back of the couch, staring at nothing in particular as Nero sat up.

“How do I know you won't get all pissy when I tell you? What if it involves you?” Nero muttered. 

“Well _does_ it?” He asked, turning to face Nero. 

“Well now of course, but like what if it did?” That got a laugh out of Dante. 

“It's gonna take more than some brat having beef with me to get under my skin. Just spit it out.” Well he really had no reason not to tell him anything. Nero just didn't know where to begin.

“So y’know the other night when I slept in your bed? And I told you it was nightmares? Those nightmares...they're memories. Memories of my childhood.” Nero’s voice had dropped to barely a whisper. Dante leaned in to hear him better, eyebrows drawn together.

“You see, growing up in Fortuna the church was pretty much the biggest thing on the island. Everyone listened to the priests and priestesses; they were supposed to be the mouthpiece of Sparda. So you didn't just cross them or spread rumors about them.”

“So I'm assuming that this involves one of these priests and you spreading rumors?” Nero felt the words die on his lips as Dante spoke. He was overwhelmed by a memory, and suddenly he wasn't on a couch but in a field.

Summer in Fortuna, the annual parade and the church's float being put together. The head priestess was assigning their groups for the work.

“Alright, Nero and father Seth will be our supply-getters.” Nero's big eyes went wide in shock. He glanced across the field at Seth and watched the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Nero barely heard the rest of the group being called out; all he could think about was Father Seth. 

He waited until she had finished naming groups before he approached her. Nero tugged on the priestess’ sleeve, his grip weak and his eyes cast towards the ground.

“Yes dear what's wrong?”

“I...I don't wanna work with Father Seth. “ he muttered, twisting his foot back and forth. The priestess laughed softly.

“Dear, why not? I thought he was your favorite?”

“He was, but...but he does bad things to me.” The words began to pour out before he could stop them. “He touches me on my body, all over and on my privates and even when I tell him not to he does it and me makes me touch him too and he makes me use my mouth on him and yells when I don't do it right and he told me not to tell anyone but--”

Her hand landed on Nero’s shoulder, and he became quiet immediately. As he sniffled and rubbed at his eyes, he realized just how upset he'd gotten so quickly.

“Nero...honey...I don't know what to say.” He felt the weight that had been on his shoulders for the past year lift finally. Someone knew. Someone who had authority knew what was happening. She could help him. She could make Father Seth stop.

“You know that's not a nice thing to say. You shouldn't try to spread rumors about people, Nero. Especially not someone as kind as he is.” he could feel his heart stop at that moment. Nero glanced towards the man in question. That smile had grown bigger. He was listening to them.

“I-it's not a rumor! It's true, please believe me!” He begged. She turned her back to him and walked towards her group of children. 

“I'm sorry Nero, but please don't spread mean things about people for fun. It's not very polite.”

Later that same day when Nero was pushed against a wall, pants around his ankles and sniffling, her words echoed in his head.

Nero stared blankly at Dante's face. He could feel the prickle of warm tears at the corners of his eyes. Nero shook his head slowly, inching away from him until he was pressed against the arm of the couch.

“Kid, you alright?” 

“It's not a rumor I swear I'm telling the truth.” Nero babbled. His claws began to dig into the flesh of his human arm. Red drops of blood welled in the pinpricks they formed. The dots became overflowing splotches as his claws sank in deeper. Dante lunged forward and snatched his arm out of Nero's grip.

“Hey kid snap out of it. Hey. _Nero_.” He yelled, shaking him by the shoulders. The tears began to slide down Nero's cheeks as he was jostled. His eyes finally focused back on Dante. He placed his demon hand on Dante's shoulder.

“I...I can't. Not right now. You said...it brought up thoughts and I just can't. Sorry.” Nero was on his feet and darting up the stairs before Dante could get another word in.

Dante's eyes followed him up the stairs until the shadows of the hall engulfed him. There was the slam of a door and silence. He could feel the raw energy coming from behind the closed door.

It had been a start at least. Nero was open to talking about it at the very least; Dante just had to watch what he was said when Nero did talk. He wasn't sure what had set him off or what had gone through the kid's mind, but it must've been one hell of a flashback to shake him up that bad.

The lingering scent from Nero's jacket filled his mind. A demon. Wherever he'd been, a demon had been there. Not just any demon, a strong demon. The smell was sickeningly familiar in a way that he hated. Whoever it was, he wanted to make sure to keep his distance from him. 

He had a bad feeling he knew exactly who he needed to avoid.


End file.
